#bloominghands

      "" . . . "" there's a thick , tense silence after the woman asks her such . there's blood already running down the halls of the submarine , of that damned fucking iron cage . . . already he can feel his boots begin to stick to the floor .

   "" over my dead boy . ""

accepting prompt.

It happened so fast. Mettaton doesn't even think about her question since she typically asks that while taking her rightful spot atop his vanity. Why assume this would be any different? Dark, painted lips part to ask— to play that coy role— "Haha, seat?" Only for her to knock him into improv-mode as she flipped the script! Occupying his lap, instead!

Ooh my.

      "" . . . . yippie . "" he is thinking on a lot of things that are not kid friendly , that's for sure !

THE BIOCHIP'S SCHISM into disparate consciousnesses and corporeal forms necessitated ample adjustment. from appearance's virgin slate to absolute autonomy of all five senses, rebirth had delivered on its quixotic potential with minutest complications. to touch and be touched by her in turn was a benediction beyond what his engramic percipience could have fathomed and still its hallowed light had yet to dim.

silence was on its own weighted blanket in the aftermath of husky hymns and carnal coupling yet her immediacy was of greater comfort. against his neck could she feel a testament to the life bestowed upon him, its cadence steadying in the calm and haven of devout companionship. to stall so close to his pulse when those less than he had been demised by the torment of her teeth was a gesture of willful vulnerability but not a moment spent in its vicinity was unearned; should she have petitioned for a mouthful, it was hers to relish as his benefactor.

snugly ensnared by her limbs and subjected to uninhibited contiguity, captive contentedly surrendered himself to confinement for several minutes until basic need could be deferred no longer. chrome fingertips which had circled listlessly around both scar and beauty mark alike trekked lower to her full thigh, his thumb tapping expectantly against copper skin to stir her sentient. with the sedative graze of her nails against his scalp and her figure's contours fitted so harmoniously against him, disturbing her repose was not without cost to them both.

@bloominghands asked: Send ( • )( • ) to flash my muse and see how they react - Accidental Robin flash for whomever you’d like because I’m cackling at the thought. The big bobs cannot be contained 😔 Flash The Muses — Accepting !

It happened so fast, and for Panty it felt like an eternity. Surely an accident, not that the angel cared, not every day she gets to see a purely ANGELIC pair of tits— Sure, she usually gets men in her life, but that's never stopped her from looking at a pretty woman. . Men are a dime a dozen, so when Panty gets her eyes on a woman— It's a TREAT. . A treat she wasn't quite done admiring, or drooling over, pick your poison. . .

Robin wasn't exactly a stranger, and Panty's pants would catch fire is she said she hasn't been eyeing her chest most of their time together. . She's a whore, a whore who makes no effort in feeling ashamed in her enjoyment. . She was calculating all of it, the smooth skin, the heft— Fuck her sideways the HEFT. . That bounce was hypnotic. . And before she knew it, shirt came back down. . . She felt like a kid who just had her candy taken away. . .

　　　　　( behold , the only sweet person in existence . )